Regrets
by GeminiQueen
Summary: Vincent and Max reunite to protect a woman with a powerful possession. I'm not the best at summaries, but please R
1. The Beginning of It All

Regrets

Beads of sweat dripped down Max's face as he ran through the train with Annie by his side. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. His stomach dropped the moment Max glanced behind him.

He's getting closer.

Max felt a pang of regret for allowing Vincent in his taxi shortly after Annie left; he hated the way he so easily manipulated him; it disgusted him when Vincent killed innocent people as a way of living. The murderous sociopath would feel no remorse, only satisfaction that his job was successful. And now, Annie, a prosecutor Max met only a few hours ago, was the hitman's final target. He oculd not let her become a victim of Vincent's insanity. She deserved better than that.

He could hear Annie struggling to control her breathing. Her stomach was strong as she said before in the cab, but her heart was tainted with fear. When they entered the final compartment, ANnie hid to the side, afraid of what terror awaited her. They jumped when they heard a familiar, enraged voice.

"MAX! THIS IS MY JOB!"

Max shuddered at the thought of death. Vincent would obviously kill him after all Max had done to him in these past few hours: shooting him in the ear, trying to save Annie, throwing away his briefcase, and making several escape attempts. After witnessing the deaths of Vincent's victims, Max would not be surprised that he would murder him as well.

He glanced at Annie's frightened face, and knew instantly what needed to be done. Max cocked his gun, moved toward the compartment door and aimed the weapon at Vincent.

It's between you and me, Vincent, Max thought. I won't let you harm, Annie. I won't let you kill her like you did to Fanning.

Vincent looked like a ghost as he stood behind the train door's window. The grey-haired assassin flushed with anger at the sight of Max. The blood from his ear cascaded down his neck. There was a determined, fierce look in his devilish green eyes that sent chills down Max's spine.

"It's between you and me," Max whispered.

Vincent aimed his gun, ready for the kill. Max prayed silently for a miracle.

Nobody heard the glass shattering or the firings of the gun, for few traveled by train that night, and most were on the other side. Max heard the whizzing of bullets fly centimeters past his head, yet he remained steady. Vincent stayed focus on his target, not flinching when a bullet grazed his neck. Then suddenly, there was a soft click and silence pursued. Vincent's eyebrows twitched. Max sighed with relief. A feelin g of hope rose in his stomach.

He ran out of bullets. Thank God.

"Vincent," Max said cautiously. "Lower the gun."

Max did not like the mischievious grin that slowly formed across his ghostly face. "You're going to tell me what to do?"

"Lower the gun," he warned.

"Or what Max?" Vincent said, stepping toward him. "Are you going to shoot me; put a bullet through me and go back to your pathetic livelihood?"

"Shut up," Max said. "And don't come any closer or I swear I'll shoot you."

"Unlike you, Max," he said darkly, the grin suddenly vanishing from his face. "I don't give in too easily to threats.

In a heartbeat, Vincent smacked the gun out of Max's hands with his fists and punched Max in the stomach, causing him to fall on his back to the hard floor. The assassin quickly pulled out an extra clip and placed it inside of his gun. Then he cocked it and aimed it at Max's head. Max gasped for air after having the wind knocked out of his lungs. He stared up into the barrel of Vincen't gun. He shot a bullet through Max's shoulder with one swift pull of the trigger. It was the most excrutiating pain Max had ever felt. He couldn't scream, for his lungs were still recovering from being knocked against the steel floor.

"Max!" Annie gasped in horror.

Max turned to her. He reached and clasped Annie's trembling hands. Her hand felt warm in his grasp; he never wanted to let go. The instant they touched, Annie had stopped shaking. She looked at him for a moment, and then realized Vincent was standing over her, his gun raised. Max could not breath as he looked into the assassin's dark, wrathful eyes and knew what would happen next. He screamed for Annie to run-to move-to do anything but kneel there and be killed. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't budge. He pleaded for Vincent to let her go.

Vincent ignored and fired.

Annie's face looked remorseful, almost peaceful when the bullet shot through her chest. Max watched in horror as her small, limp body collapsed onto the floor. Vincent took a couple steps closer, aimed, and fired two more bullets: one through the chest, the other through the head. He looked down at her without any trace of sadness on his exhausted face. A moment later, he noticed Max writhing on the floor, trying desperately to get up.

"Max," Vincent said flatly, "I dont think you realize how big of a hole you got me into. This is my job and I am hired to carry it out."

"Dont try to justify what you just did!" Max cried. His heart felt like stone sinking to the pit of his stomach. He could not take his eyes off Annie's lifeless body. "Annie! Please no, Annie."

"She's dead," the assassin said, picking up Max's empty gun off the floor. "It's probably for the best. She almost got you killed. Women. They have these charms taht make men do the most idiotic things like getting in the way of another man's work. You should be thanking me. Not sniveling on the floor like some pathetic infant.

"Bastard!" Max cried, his voice growing steadily weaker. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable. He winced.

"We're all insignificant. We all live. We all die. Sooner or later death will catch up with us. Annie Farrell was a lawyer; stress would have killed her eventually. I just sped up the process."

Max could not believe what he was hearing. He wanted to block his ears and shut out Vincent's justifications. He wanted to die, to finally be rid of this crazed sociopath. As the pain in his arm lessened, his vision became darker. Vincent stood over him, watching him with narrowed eyes. Max looked up at him, frowning.

"Good luck, Max," Vincent said. "You'll need it."

Before Max could reply, Vincent headed toward the subway door as it came to a stop. Max saw the assassin fade into the night before falling into unconsciousness. 


	2. A Mysterious Gift

RACHEL TARO

ONE YEAR LATER

Rachel Taro tried to put aside her overwhelming stress as she walked down the hotel hallway of the 13th floor. Her father had paged her a half hour ago during her preparation for the presentation she needed to give in less than an hour. Adley, the irritable man she was forced to call her boss, would definitely kill her for this. Yet the guilt in her heart from not seeing her father in months outweighed the desire to satisfy her boss. Her father sounded anxious and worried on the phone, making Rachel slightly nervous.

Finally she had reached her father's room. She knocked. There was no answer. Rachel huffed and knocked once more. Again, she was greeted with silence.

"Dad," Rachel called. "It's me, Rachel. Are you even-"

The door quickly opened at the mentioning of her name, and a man, no taller than Rachel herself, stood at the entrance with large, restless eyes. His grey hair was thinning on his round head, and his stomach was a rather large lump under his pinstripe suit. He smiled and said, "I'm so glad you are here, Rae."

Rachel beamed. She loved his nickname for her. It was a fatherly thing she had adapted to when she moved to L.A. to be closer with him. She stepped inside the hotel room, put her purse on the counter, and sat upright on the expensive leather couch.

She tried to ignore the bustling street 13 stories below her. Ever since she was a child, Rachel had a fear of heights. She felt she was suddenly falling back through the window, down many, many feet before the pavement reached her. It was a fear that gripped her heart whenever she was up this high. When her father saw the fearful look on her face, he quickly shut the curtains of the window, and then sat across from his daughter. Rachel's muscles slowly began to relax.

"So what is the problem?" Rachel asked.

"Problem?" Taro said, sounding puzzled. There was still an anxious gleam in his eyes that Rachel could not ignore.

"You sounded worried on the phone," she said patiently. "You said you wanted me here as soon as possible. Well, I'm here so just tell me what's wrong."

Taro pursed his lips. "I don't know Rachel..."

"Know what?"

"If it is the right thing to put such a heavy burden on you," he sighed.

It was Rachel's turn to be puzzled. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

Taro hesitated. Slowly, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the most gorgeous locket Rachel had ever seen. She marveled at its exotic beauty: the gold complemented the alexandrite engraved at the center, and it had an elegant oval shape. The color of the gem was a purplish-red, and had obviously been shaped into a rhombus. Rachel couldn't help but awe at it. Taro held it out for her; Rachel accepted it willingly in her hand and observed its magnificence. The locket refused to open as she gently tried to pry it open.

"Is that alexandrite?" Rachel asked curiously.

Her father looked solemn. "Yes, Rae. The rarest gem in the world. I would like you to have it. Please," he held her hand in his. Rachel shuddered at his cold, shaking hands, "please Rae, take care of this locket and don't let it out of your site. Promise this, my daughter."

His wide, frightened eyes sent a shiver down her spine. There was something he was not telling her, and Rachel pleaded for him to confess. Her father just shook his head and feigned a happy smile.

"Now is not the time."

This was the last thing he said to her before Rachel left to go back to work, the mysterious locket tucked securely in her purse.

Rachel rummaged through her leather purse, until she pulled out her cell phone which had been ringing endlessly beneath lipstick and dollar bills. She suppressed a moan when she heard Adley at the end of the line. She grimaced at the sound of his irritating, high pitched voice.  
"Yeah...okay...I know I'm late, it's just my father...yes, I know you don't like excuses, but I...yes...alright...I'll be there as soon-" The click at the end of the line told Rachel that Adley had hung up on her. She scowled menacingly at her phone.

"That rude-" Rachel was once again interrupted by the soothing Beethoven classic of her cell phone.

"What does Adley want now?"

Exasperated, she looked anxiously at the elegant, closed elevator doors. Open already. I'm already five minutes late. She ignored her noisy cell phone for several moments before turning it off completely. Rachel grinned maliciously.

"Now you know what it feels like to be hung up on, Adley you bastard," Rachel said triumphantly.

Her grin quickly vanished when she glanced at her father's hotel door down the far end of the hall. Instinct told her to stay with him, but she ignored the cold feeling at the pit of her stomach and waited impatiently for the doors to open. A presentation to the top business leaders was extremely important and it would cause a devastating effect on her career if she did not attend. Adley would finally find a reason to fire her. She could not lose her job, not after all the effort she put in to creating a new life for herself.

A brief moment passed before the elevator's golden doors opened slowly in front of her. A rather tall, broad shouldered man with spiky grey hair and stubble looked at her behind tinted sunglasses that hid his eyes. He wore a dark suit that seemed to fit him well. Something about this man seemed very familiar. Rachel struggled to see if she could remember his face. Those sunglasses made it more difficult to recognize him. The man held the door open with ease. Rachel could feel his eyes boring into her, as if he recognized her as well.

"Sorry, sir," Rachel asked modestly. "Have we met? I feel like I've seen you before."

The man grinned at her good-naturedly. "There are more than eight million people living here in NYC, Miss. I doubt you've ever met me until this moment. Unless..."

"Unless what?" she asked.

"Unless you work for the Oil Company by the river," he grinned in the corner of his lips. "I stop by there every once in a while."

Rachel glared at him. "No, those selfish, greedy lizards are not worth even thinking about. Not only do they poison our waters, but they are-"

She stopped. She was doing it again-speaking her mind without any sign of stopping which irritated the hell out of everyone who dared listen. Her career in business taught her that. The grin on his handsome face made her blush.

"You look stressed," he said.

"I am," Rachel admitted. "Work can be so hectic, sometimes."

"I know what you mean."

Rachel smiled. This man was a total stranger and yet she spoke so freely to him as if she had known him for years. He still held the elevator door open with his hand when he glanced down both sides of the hallway. A couple at the end of the hall walked toward their direction. An old woman sat quietly on a chair nearby, reading a crumpled newspaper dated a couple years ago. The edge of his lips twitched slightly. He looked back at Rachel, and his charming smile returned.

"I better get going," he said, taking a quickly glance at his watch.

"Are you on this floor?"

"Yes, for a short while."

Rachel stepped into the elevator shaft as the man walked out. She spun around to ask him, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

The doors closed slowly enough for Rachel to see the grey-haired man walking casually in the direction of her father's hotel room.


	3. Vow of Revenge

MATTHEUS TARO

Mattheus Taro felt weak as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window toward the street below. People walked down the sidewalk, not a worry or despair hampering their carefree lives. They were fortunate to live without the same guilt that weighed Taro's heart. He was reluctant to tell Rachel the terrible truth, but she needed to know soon.

_It's the only way._

A soft click of a door opening came from nearby. Taro's heart froze. Someone was there. It could not be Rachel; she had just left only moments ago. Unless, he hoped, she forgot something.

Soft footsteps came from the other end of the suite. Someone was searching for him.

"R-Rachel?" Taro called out.

Silence. The footsteps were getting closer now. Taro's hands shook slightly. A sick feeling in his stomach intensified with Taro's horrifying conclusion.

_They know._

His heart fluttered with hope when he remembered his only means of a weapon. He dashed toward his closet and pulled out a gun from his cloak. Very quietly, Taro hid behind his opened door, hoping he would have a chance to shoot the intruder before he could finish his objective. He dared not breathe; any noise could signal Taro was there.

The footsteps grew louder until they finally stopped in front of Taro's open door. A man walked into the room, his eyes cautious and determined. The silencer in his hands confirmed Taro's suspicion that they had found out. This man was an assassin, hired to kill Taro for his knowledge and secrecy. I should have known those bastards would have done this. He was glad he had a weapon to defend himself with, though he was not used to its heavy weight. He had never used a gun before, but knew this was his only means of protection.

Taro prayed his plan would work. His heart pounded so loudly, he was afraid the grey-haired man would hear it. The assassin did not let his guard down as he looked throughout the grand suite. The silencer had already been cocked and ready to serve its purpose. Gathering all his courage, Taro aimed his gun at the man. His finger slowly pulled the trigger.

* * *

When he closed the door that led to the hallway, Vincent pulled off his tinted shades. There was no reason to hide his face in here; the only cameras were in the hallway and bottom floors of the hotel. Vincent eyed the rooms of the suite, looking for his victim. He held his silencer in front of him as he moved toward the bedroom. The door was already open when he stepped inside. No one seemed to be there, but something told Vincent that Taro was near.

He was not prepared for the chaos that happened next. A bullet grazed past his head, and shattered the window before him. Vincent spun around to face a pale-faced Taro aiming a gun at his head. The short, stubby man looked terrified as he stood behind the door Vincent had just entered. Taro attempted to shoot him again, but Vincent was too quick. The assassin shot him twice in the chest. Taro collapsed to the floor, blood staining his pinstripe suit. He cried out for help, struggling to lift his heavy body off the floor. Vincent felt no hesitation as he sent another bullet through Taro's head. This time, Mattheus Taro remained still.

Vincent scowled at the broken window. His plan had not worked out as smoothly as he'd hoped. Someone must have heard the gunshot and shattered glass. He couldn't stay here, for any moment now police officers would be arriving to find out what happened.

He glared at Taro's dead body, blaming him for this mess. Hiding the silencer in his pocket, Vincent exited the fancy bedroom. He made sure to place his tinted sunglasses on before entering the hallway. At least it was empty this time. No witnesses, no problems.

_Now for my next assignment._

* * *

Rachel felt a tremble of rage ready to erupt within her. People glanced at her as she rushed down the street fuming like a madwoman. The presentation had been worse than what she had expected. She remembered the way Adley smiled evilly at her as she messed up yet another business presentation.

That bastard humiliated assigned me to this job so he can humiliate me! Rachel cursed. She knew Adley kept her on the job just so he could continue annoying the hell out of her.

Her blood ran cold the moment she saw the police officers talking on walky-talkies with grave faces. A group of curious people surrounded the officers, watching an old man lying on a stretcher being taken out of the hotel. Rachel gasped. It was her father.

She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, pushing past the crowd without the slightest concern for their complaints. She could not block the horrid thoughts that raced through her mind. When Rachel finally reached the front of the crowd, she ignored the police officers and ran toward her father's stretcher. One bulky policeman held her back with a strong arm. Rachel spun around and snapped, "That's my father! Let me go to him!"

The man quickly let go of her, shocked by the dangerous gleam in her bright green eyes. Rachel reached the ambulance, told the driver she was his daughter, and climbed in. When the doors shut behind her and she was alone with her father and a worker, she kneeled helplessly by his side. Rachel's heart wrenched painfully. Her eyes watered at the sight of her father's ghastly body. Since the blanket covered her father's body, Rachel did not see the two bullet wounds through her sheets, only the bullet in his head. Rachel winced, leaned against the vehicle's wall, and shut her eyes. She refused to accept what her heart already knew. Her father, the man who loved her and cared for her, was dead. Tears raced down her cheeks in silent streams.

_Not again. No, please God, not again._

Memories came rushing back to her in a painful wave. She remembered that day when they reunited. Her father had accepted her into his arms so easily, despite the fact that he had not known she had existed. He was so much like her Aunt Emily with his caring smile and massive heart. It felt like more than two years that she knew him. How could anyone possibly want such a wonderful man dead?

Rachel felt numb. She wished more than anything that her father could hold her, to console her in his arms. Why hadn't she stayed? She should have been there with him, to protect him, to save him.

After a moment of utter shock, Rachel looked very slowly from the floor, to the stretcher, to the pallid body lying motionless. A fury rose inside her; the same anger she had felt only a few years ago. She trembled against the wall. Clenching her fists, Rachel swore she would find the one who killed her father before he got away.


	4. Max Durocher

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took me so long to update! Now that it's summer, I can try to post faster updates. Thanks for all the support for the story! Your reviews inspire me to keep writing! 

Oh, and I went back to the previous chapters and fixed the spelling errors. :)

Please REVIEW!

* * *

MAX DUROCHER

Time stood still as Rachel sat motionless in the desolate hospital lobby, her eyes staring blankly at the television screen above her. Her stomach churned every time she reflected on her father's ruined body. Dried out of tears, Rachel felt the piercing cold numbness run through her veins. To distract herself from her painful thoughts, she focused on a conversation taking place on the screen.

A reporter was giving an interview to a nervous-looking black man who continued to shift uncomfortably in his seat. The reporter addressed him as Mr. Max Durocher, but instead of asking the usual questions, seemed to be interrogating him as though he was a criminal.

"Do you still keep to your story, Mr. Durocher?" he said with a slight smirk.

"Yes," Max scowled. "I was a hostage that night, held by a trained contract-killer. I never killed anyone. He was the one who murdered all those people"

"But what about the lawyer"

Max's scowl deepened. "Including her. I was trying to save her"

"So what are your thoughts of the jury's vote being so close? One less vote and they would have found you guilty"

Rachel found herself pitying Max as he tried to control an anger she could easily relate to. The reporter continued to ask rude, personal questions. Max replied.

"What's his name? This hit man you claim is responsible for the five murders," the reporter scoffed.

Max hesitated for a moment. Rachel could see a mixture of fear and hatred in his dark eyes. "Vincent. His name's Vincent," he said.

Rachel gasped and jumped to her feet. Her mouth hung open. She could not believe what she had just heard.

_Vincent. No. No, that's impossible!_

"What does he look like, this Vincent," the reporter asked. "You know, just in case anyone so happens to run into him"

Max's face darkened as he said, "He-he has grey hair, looks as if he's in his late 30s or early 40s maybe, not very tall but not short"

Rachel clasped her hands over her ears, drowning out their voices. She knelt on her knees and stared down at the floor.

"Could it be?" she asked herself, her body shaking. "But how? How could I have not recognized him!"

Rachel looked up at the screen again and watched Max intently, memorizing his solemn face with cold green eyes. She promised she would avenge her father.  
And Rachel Taro always kept her promises.

* * *

The wind greeted Rachel Taro with a cold breeze as she stepped out of LAX that night. She wrapped her arms around herself, thankful for her light jacket, and tapped her foot impatiently while waiting for a cab. When it came, she slid gracefully in the backseat.

The cab driver turned and said, "Where to, lady?"

Rachel grinned grimly and gave him the address.

* * *

Before Rachel left for LA, she had used her father's connections for the CIA headquarters to check into the records of Max Durocher. They were at first reluctant to give her such important information. Rachel had suspected this, of course. But with a few bribes and a couple blackmails, she had successful retrieved Max's address, phone number, and entire medical and criminal history.

"Why do you want so much data about a hit man?" one of the workers asked.

"Let's just say we have something in common."

* * *

"Here we are," said the cab driver.

Rachel glanced out the window to see a dark red building rusty from old age. She jumped out the cab, paid the driver, and headed toward the apartment. Before she stepped inside, a pang of hesitation loomed in her stomach. She bit her lip, suddenly unsure of herself.

_What am I doing here? I'm in a completely different state, about to knock on the door of a stranger and interrupt what little of a life he has left. God, what do I do?_

She turned around; about to walk away when a thought struck her and her hesitation was instantly replaced by anger.

_I need to do this! If I don't, I'll never find the man who killed my father!_

And with newfound courage, Rachel stepped into the apartment. Little did she know that this Max would change her life. Forever.

* * *

The television screen blared, drowning out the unsettling silence of the apartment. Max stared at the screen, unaware of what he was actually watching. A plate of old spaghetti sat in his lap.

_Knock. Knock._

Max jumped, splattering his plate of spaghetti onto the floor. His harsh breathing quickened. His eyes bulged as he stared at the door. For a moment, Max did not know what to do. He just stood there, motionless, fear rumbling inside him.

"Max? Max Durocher?"

A woman's voice.

Max's stiff shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still heard his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He walked over his spilled spaghetti and opened the door a few inches, enough to see a stunning, slender woman with piercing green eyes staring back at him.

"Do I know you" he said, frowning.

Rachel smiled mischievously. "You don't know me Mr. Durocher, but you will."

"You're not a reporter are you?" he groaned.

"No," Rachel said, "but I do have some questions for you and a proposition, if you're interested.

"I really don't have time—"

"I met a man yesterday," Rachel interrupted. "He had pepper grey hair and stubble with such a charming disposition. He seemed to know my entire life history by just looking at me. But at the same time, he had this predator way about him, as if he was on the search for prey. Sound familiar?"

The color in Max's face vanished. He stared wide-eyed at her and his mouth kept opening and closing, as though he wanted to speak but had forgotten how.

"I was hoping you would remember him," she said. "Vincent's quite a hard character to forget, isn't he?"

"Stop!" Max shouted. His pallid face soon flushed in anger. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "You people wont stop will you? You'll just keep coming up to me, saying things that aren't true just so you can get a reaction. There really was a Vincent that night! I'm no liar. And I'm especially not a murderer."

Tenants started to look out their doors, wondering who was making all the noise. Max ignored them.

"You don't give a shit about hurting anyone just so long as you get your story. Well fuck you and leave me the hell alone!" Max slammed the door.

"Max," Rachel said calmly. "I told you I'm not a reporter. And I do believe you"  
At these words, Max spun open the door and stuttered, "Y-you do?"

"Yes. One of the few, I'm sure." She glanced at the staring tenants and said, "Can I speak to you in private?"

"Uh," Max hesitated. "Sure. Yeah."

Max held the door open for her as she stepped inside. She looked around at the tattered furniture, faded green walls, and spilt spaghetti that stained the smelly carpet. Max apologized for the mess.

"Don't worry about it," she smiled.

"So…you really believe me?" Max said.

"Well, after seeing the man you described and seeing him walk toward my father's room where I later heard he was murdered, I'm pretty sure you're telling the truth."

Rachel sat down on the sofa, looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. Max only stared.

"Anyway," she continued. "I need your help."

"Huh?" Max frowned. "With what?"

"Vincent killed my father, Max," Rachel said. "And I need your help to get him."

"What!"

"You're the only I know still living who saw Vincent's face. With your help, I can execute my plan on trapping him."

Max could not believe what he was hearing. "Trap him? Why?"

"He knows the name of the person who hired him."

"But, Max said, "But, why don't you ask the police for help? The FBI or CIA or something?"

Rachel laughed. "It gets too complicated if I get the police involved. And I tried searching for him on CIA records but it led to a dead end. No, I need you."

"Why me?"

"You know his moves, his tactics, everything there is to know that could possibly keep you alive and prevent yourself from ruining my plan."

"No," Max mumbled, shaking his head. "No. I can't do this. Not again."

Rachel stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders. Max could now see the desperation in her eyes, could hear her heart beating, and could tell she was afraid as much as him.

"Please," she whispered. "I know I'm just a stranger to you and I'm asking you to risk your life. But you don't need to do this for me; you can do it for Annie."

Max backed away from her. "You don't know anything abut Annie."

"And because of Vincent, you never will either."

They looked at each other for a long while, listening to nothing but the eerie silence and the rain that now tapped lightly against the window. Max breathed deeply before breaking the silence.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He's been following me tonight. I believe I'm his next target."


End file.
